Back when time wasn’t a worry, I had plenty ahead;
lovely songs to be sung, and great books to be read…
when I was young.
The years sped by, I took them in stride;
the count didn’t matter, I simply basked in the ride…
when I was young.
Life rushed on, my days filled with commonplace hours;
nights brought new adventures and thrilling powers…
when I was young.
The years piled up, but always in denial, I blithely waved them away;
though lurking in the shadows, quietly awaiting, stood my fateful day…
even then, I thought I was still young.
The shattering doom came on a rush with the wind;
its breath of havoc gathered in a spin.
Who could that person staring back at me be?
The Me I had known I now couldn’t see.
To my fearful dread, the mirror delivered a woeful truth:
time had boldly walked away with my youth.
One might presume I’ve been caught in life’s inevitable snare,
pinioned by bands of formidable steel.
Yet, I have an ace in the hole—a mind if you will;
active and questing, impervious to intrusion;
tethered to its grand illusion, chanting aloud,
lost in song, here’s cheers for attitude...I am still young.
From First Love to its destructive end and on to new beginnings, Mary Angela Nangini's poems explore the birth and death of a relationship. The powerful poems are presented in two parts with an introduction to her next book My Ontario Beautiful. (Th
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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When I was Young
Back when time wasn’t a worry, I had plenty ahead;
lovely songs to be sung, and great books to be read…
when I was young.
The years sped by, I took them in stride;
the count didn’t matter, I simply basked in the ride…
when I was young.
Life rushed on, my days filled with commonplace hours;
nights brought new adventures and thrilling powers…
when I was young.
The years piled up, but always in denial, I blithely waved them away;
though lurking in the shadows, quietly awaiting, stood my fateful day…
even then, I thought I was still young.
The shattering doom came on a rush with the wind;
its breath of havoc gathered in a spin.
Who could that person staring back at me be?
The Me I had known I now couldn’t see.
To my fearful dread, the mirror delivered a woeful truth:
time had boldly walked away with my youth.
One might presume I’ve been caught in life’s inevitable snare,
pinioned by bands of formidable steel.
Yet, I have an ace in the hole—a mind if you will;
active and questing, impervious to intrusion;
tethered to its grand illusion, chanting aloud,
lost in song, here’s cheers for attitude...I am still young.
Copyright 2003 by Elizabeth Towles